Taken in Moria
by Eldacar
Summary: What if Gandalf was not the only one who fell in the darkness of Moria? What if the prince of Mirkwood and two little hobbits were taken as well? Taken...to Isengard, by the Uruks of the White Hand, to Saruman!
1. Missing

_"There was a guard of orcs crouching in the shadows behind the great door-posts towering on either side, but the gates were shattered and cast down. Aragorn smote to the ground the captain that stood in his path, and the rest fled in terror of his wrath. The Company swept past them and took no heed of them. Out of the Gates they ran and sprang down the huge and age-worn steps, the threshold of Moria._

_Thus, at last, they came beyond hope under the sky and felt the wind on their faces._

_They did not halt until they were out of bowshot from the walls. Dimrill Dale lay about them. The shadow of the __Misty__Mountains__ lay upon it, but eastwards there was a golden light on the land. It was but one hour after __noon_. The sun was shining; the clouds were white and high.__

_They looked back. Dark yawned the archway of the Gates under the mountain-shadow. Faint and far beneath the earth rolled the slow drumbeats: doom._ A thin black smoke trailed out. _Doom. _Grief at last wholly overcame them, and they wept long: some standing and silent, some cast upon the ground. _Doom, doom._ The drum-beats faded."__

Aragorn spent a long moment staring blankly at the Gates. _Gandalf…I said to you, 'if you should pass the doors of Moria, beware!' Alas that I spoke true…_Then he seemed to come to himself. His shoulders straightened, and he sheathed his sword with a _snap_. "Come," he said to the rest of the Company. "We cannot afford to weep any longer; there will be time enough for grieving when our task is done. We must hasten onwards—to Lothlórien."

He had expected Legolas to say something; long had the Elf wished to see the Golden Wood. But no words came. In fact, the Company looked curiously small to his eyes.

"Where is Legolas?" Gimli said suddenly.

"And Merry?" asked Frodo.

"And Pippin!" cried Sam.

"By the Valar…" Aragorn breathed. Images flashed through his mind in rapid succession. _Fleeing the darkness of Moria…daylight ahead…Gimli, Boromir, Sam, and Frodo run ahead of me. Legolas, Pippin and Merry must be behind…A hobbit cries out, shrill with fright, quickly cut off…"Vá!" Legolas shouts in the Elvish tongue._

_Back in the Chamber of Mazarbul…orcs are pouring in…there are Uruks there! Some are of Mordor, black and evil…but there are more…they bear the White Hand!_

No!

"They have been captured!"

**ειδαсαг******

ok…first chapter. what think you? shall i continue? short, i know, but oh well. By the bye, the top paragraph(s) (the ones all in italics) is a quote from The Fellowship of the Ring, by J.R.R. Tolkien. thought it would be a good segue.

gaaaaah—i know, the whole story was gone for a while. i was uploading the next chapter and something went way wrong, so i had to delete the whole $^@*! thing. sry, won't happen again!


	2. Questions

"Merry. Merry!" Pippin whispered as loudly as he dared. If he were not quiet, the Orcs would hear. He and Merry had been thrown unceremoniously to the ground in the middle of the Uruk-hai camp, with sentries posted all round them. The rest of the Fellowship was nowhere to be seen.

The other hobbit had not stirred. "Merry!" Pippin called again.

One of the sentries heard. He flicked his whip at Pippin. "Shut up, you!" The lash just barely missed him.

Pippin did not dare try to wake the unconscious hobbit again. But he did not need to. Merry groaned once, quietly, and then his eyes blinked open. Sitting up, he glanced casually around at Pippin.

"Hullo, Pip. I say, when d'you suppose we'll be getting breakfast?" The fact that they were captured, bound hand and foot, separated from the Company and lying in the middle of a camp of Orcs did not appear to bother him at all.

Pippin was amazed by his fellow hobbit's temerity. He had not the time to reply, for the Uruks instantly pounced upon them both. They were all enormous compared to the hobbits, all heavily muscled black limbs and stout, barrel-chested black bodies. Some had blue or green eyes, and Pippin shuddered to think what poor Elf had been turned into something so hideous. Their fangs were yellow and dirty, their voices harsh and guttural. All of them had blades of some sort, and a few of the larger ones carried whips.

"Don't move, and no talking," the biggest of them growled. His Common speech was barely understandable. "You won't need to, where you're going."

"Then make us," Merry said suddenly, standing up.

The Orc pushed him down again with one clawlike hand. "Shut up, rat! Any more trouble, and He'll hear about it, mark my words!"

Merry was not cowed. "Who will? Saruman? That filthy slug you call a master!" 

"Quiet!" The Uruk was obviously fighting to hold his rage. "I am Kashgûl, captain of this patrol, and you will do as I say!"

"Or what?" Pippin taunted, sounding much braver than he felt. "You'll punish us? I'll say you won't; Saruman won't like his prize that way, now will he."

Kashgûl shoved his face closer to Pippin's. His voice grew harsher, more menacing. "Last warning, little rat. Shut up!"

"No!" Merry shouted back.

That was too far. Kashgûl cracked him over the head with the handle of his whip, and then lightly flicked his lash at Pippin. Orders to the others streamed from him in his own foul tongue. Pippin caught one last glimpse of Merry on the ground, being gagged and blindfolded as the Orcs surrounded them both. Then a blindfold descended over his own eyes. A fetid-smelling rag was shoved into his mouth, and all the world grew dark.

**ειδαсαг******

Legolas awoke doubled up in pain. Seeing the Elf was conscious, the leering Uruk standing over him kicked him once more, for good measure, and then called to his captain in the harsh Black Speech of Mordor. The foul words stung the archer's sensitive ears, and he flinched. Though he could not understand a word, he was reasonably sure that some part of the phrase was insulting. Even Orcs understood sarcasm, apparently.

"Kashgûl! The _hai-glob búbhosh _has awakened!"

The Orc-captain was there instantly. Leaning down, he grabbed the barely-conscious Elf's slender chin in his hand, and Legolas could not suppress a slight wince when his neck twisted. The Uruk sneered at him. "I'll make the rules clear to begin with. No talking, no resisting, no trouble, and things may go easier for you at the other end." So saying, he slapped the archer across the face and strode away.

Dazed from the slap and from whatever had previously knocked him unconscious, Legolas did not have the presence of mind to respond. He was on his knees, hands bound around a pole behind his back. His head throbbed. The Elf took stock of his injuries: a long slash down his back, what was probably a large bump just above his ear, an ugly-looking gash on his upper arm, and some heavy bruises on his ribs from the Orc guard's kicks. The archer shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

Where in Arda was he?

Kashgûl's voice had awakened a memory. But he could not quite recall it. Closing his eyes, Legolas let himself fall through his mind, to remember.

_We were in Moria. Merry, Pippin and I were last…Aragorn and the others were ahead of us. Dark shapes, closing in out of the shadows. One cries, "Find the Halflings! Take them—and take the Elf!" That is Kashgûl. Orcs surround the three of us. Merry and Pippin draw their little swords, but they are no match for the Uruks of the White Hand. Pippin cries out, voice shrill with fright, but is quickly cut off when an Orc clamps a hand over his mouth and picks him up like a sack. They are all around me, and I am the only one left. The space is too narrow for arrows, so I draw my daggers. We fight. Eight I slew…but then something struck the side of my head, and blackness fell._

_And now I am alone._

What had happened to Merry and Pippin? Legolas wondered. And Gimli and the rest? Did they escape, or were they captured as well? Merry and Pippin had certainly been taken, he remembered that. But why weren't they here? The Orcs had all borne the White Hand, which meant that presumably all prisoners would be brought to Isengard, to Saruman. Apparently that was not so.

It began to rain, an icy, heavy downpour that left the Elf drenched and shivering. At least it cleansed his wounds, though they burned still. To take his mind off it all—the cold, the wet, the questions, the pain, and the loneliness—Legolas began to sing a song of his people in his own language. How good the sweet words felt on his tongue!

_Namárië lissë kemen ar formenwa menel,_

_An voro laitanë, an sinome né caita_

_Ar sinome hroanen tyelca né _

_Nornoroa undu Isil, undu Anar,_

_Lúthien Tindómerel_

_Yanta vanima i fírima lambë voro nyarë. _

_Nan ilya an atalantë lantanë Ambar_

_Ar né úcarna ar nanehortanë_

_Úcarna undumënna enwina,_

_Né cáralarya mára,_

_I histen, i ara, i kemen, i Eär_

_I Lúthien lúlin núva._

He ended, and for a long time sat and watched the stars wheel overhead. _Elbereth! Gil en-gilgalad nunthi…Tua amin. _The prayer to the queen of the Valar lightened his heart and helped to quell his loneliness. With hope again alive within him, Legolas let himself—forced himself—to drift off to sleep.

And was then rudely awakened.

**ειδαсαг**

second chapter's up…but unless y'all're really shmart, you'll need some translations. Chronological order:

1) 'great-people fool' (when said sarcastically, it _could_ cast an insulting light on things, but you kind of have to think about it for it to make sense. i actually meant to say something like…like…i dunno, but something more obviously provocative. o well. translators have their limits, after all.)

**2) Who Lúthien Was (this is the song title; Legolas never said it)**

Farewell sweet earth and northern sky,

For ever blest, since here did lie

And here with lissome limbs did run,

Beneath the Moon, beneath the Sun,

Lúthien Tinúviel,

More fair than mortal tongue can tell.

Though all to ruin fell the world

And were dissolved and backward hurled

Unmade into the old abyss,

Yet were its making good, for this

The dusk, the dawn, the earth, the Sea,

That Lúthien for a time should be.

3) 'Elbereth! Shine the starlight downward…help me.' a prayer to Elbereth, queen of the Valar, and it's a fairly common Elven supplication, minus the 'help me' part.

as to reviews—**thank you so much to the ppl that wrote them. i said this in my bio too…just thought i'd better be clear. y'all're awesome. (i know, i erased them all—but it was an accident, i swear! when i was uploading the next chapter something went wrong and i had to delete the whole story, and the reviews went with it! y'all don't know how much i'm kicking myself for that.) and pls e-mail me if you have questions/comments/etc. that are too long for the little review box or whatever. i'll respond, promise!**


	3. Trapped

Shouts resounded through the Orc camp. The voice of Kashgûl could be heard roaring, "_Gimbul, gimbul—skai! __Gimbul!" Legolas jerked out of his doze just in time to see two small figures running hither and thither through the still-pouring rain. He could hear snatches of an argument between them, said in high little hobbit-voices:_

"No, Pippin—he's over this way!"

"Quiet, Merry, or the Uruks will hear us—"

"But I'm _telling you, he's over here—"_

"Call for him, then—"

"Call? And you were only just now complaining about making too much noise!"

"All right, I'll do it; they'll have already heard _you_ by now—Legolas! Legolas!"

The Elf had to fight the urge to laugh. The pair reminded him of something Mithrandir had once said: "_Hobbits. One can learn all there is to know about their ways in a month, but after a hundred years, they can still surprise you._" How right he had been!

Suddenly Kashgûl's bellow cut through his thoughts. "There they are! Get them!"

Merry and Pippin apparently heard as well. They dashed towards the archer, responding to his cries of "Here, here!" Merry carried an ugly jagged knife, and when the hobbits reached Legolas he quickly put it to work sawing at the Elf's bonds. Though the blade was notched, its edge was keen, and the rope strands quickly parted. Legolas leapt to his feet and dashed off to what he believed was the edge of the camp. It was very rocky terrain, and the hobbits followed as best they could. The trio made good progress for a few minutes—but Legolas's keen eyes could see blurry shapes flanking them to the side. The Uruks were running a parallel course. The Elf put on an extra spurt of speed, hoping to outrun them. Soon, however, he had to slow. Merry and Pippin were unable to keep up with the long, graceful strides of the archer, and he would not—could not— leave them behind.

A rock wall loomed ahead. Legolas spun left, then right. More cliffs, slick and glistening wet from the rain, met his desperately searching eyes. There was nowhere to go. The shouts of the Uruks were not far behind.

They were trapped.

**ειδαсαг******

Legolas whirled, seeking something, anything, that would allow them to escape. He supposed they could always try to go straight up the cliff face, dangerous though it might be. One look at Merry and Pippin told him this would not work. They were exhausted from their flight, first from wherever they had been held captive, then to Legolas, and then to here. And they were, well, tiny. They could not possibly scale the sheer rock.

They had no alternative but to fight.

All of this went through the Elf's head in less than a minute. The Uruks were closing fast. The archer turned to the hobbits. He had barely opened his mouth to speak when a barbed, black-shafted arrow whistled past to clack on the stone. More followed, a veritable hailstorm of death. Fortunately, either the Orcs had terrible aim or the rain was clouding their vision—or perhaps both, for none of the arrows struck the trio. Until—

The Elf whipped about and saw it as if it were moving through water: a single shaft speeding towards their little band, black and evil like all the rest. It was strange, but to his Elven eyes it seemed to hold some sort of flame at its tip. The fire, too, was black, and radiated evil. The bolt looked like a rapidly swelling dot, which meant it was hurtling directly at its target:

Pippin!

In the heightened senses of the Elf, the arrow moved in slow motion. The archer dove at the unsuspecting hobbit, arms outstretched, pushing him out of harm's way—but inadvertently placing himself in that same dangerous position.

The black-burning arrow cracked straight into Legolas' shoulder.

At the moment of impact, a thousand evil things whipped through his mind. All were laughing, mocking, jeering, tormenting. Their voices were screams and whispers, their bodies shapeless and wraithlike. Evil emanated from them in a foul, pervading cloud. The Elf felt as if he were going mad. And all the while, bright white agony laced with black chaos lanced through his body.

But just as soon as they had begun, the voices and the madness stopped, and Legolas found himself lying curled up on the cold ground, clutching his shoulder and gritting his teeth against the pain. An involuntary cry escaped his lips—with the return to reality, the agony had grown even more intense, if that were possible. He had been shot before, and it had never hurt this badly. It must be because of the black fire. Merry and Pippin stood worriedly over him, watching in surprised and helpless horror as a rivulet of blood trickled from between the Elf's clenched fingers.

And the Uruks were almost upon them.

**ειδαсαг**

ok, i sort of fixed this chapter. merry and pippin still aren't in character, legolas isn't either, but at least it's longer. Flames of Udûn, you were right, my chapters are** way too short. but eenyhoo, translations:**

1) 'find them, find them—skai! find them!' skai being an orkish expression of contempt.

*as to reviewers (new best friends)*

MoroTheWolfGod—glad you like it. hope it doesn't disappoint you!

aelfgifu—well, it wasn't **entirely** bigmouth merry's fault…he was technically in no way responsible for legolas' pain, tho I plan to make him think so…*evil grin*

Lena—let me know if it starts paralleling some other story too closely. i want it to be aoap: as original as possible!

Amia—gaaaah, don't cry! pls! i'm trying to hurry!

xx embyr—So, you like capture stories. then you don't mind torture fics, do you?

White Wolf—glad you like it. and thanx **so much for reading it in the first place!**

Ecri— that gives me an idea…*bwa ha ha ha haaaaa!*

Lúthien Tinúviel—i'm mean??!!! whyever would you think that? just cuz i torture/capture/kill my characters? hm—wellll, yeah, s'pose i am. but i do so enjoy it. death to saruman!!!

Flames of Udûn—well, all right, i admit it, you're right. my chapters are way too short. forgive the mistakes of a novice writer; i'll try to fix em, promise. any more suggestions?


	4. Watched

The Ranger bent low, sniffing the hard stone like a wolf on the scent. "The Orc-stench is thick here," he murmured excitedly to what remained of the Company. "They passed this way, not long ago—we are gaining on them! They are two days, perhaps three, ahead of us—no more."

And like his namesake, Strider leapt up and ran, calling behind him as he went, "They travel southwest, making for Isengard. But we will catch them!"

**ειδαсαг**

Legolas managed to land one kick before the Orcs surrounded him. Merry went down in a crowd, though little hobbit fists occasionally came flailing through the living barrier. He even bit one on the nose. Pippin had commandeered his fellow's knife, and lopped off several hands and fingers by the time they caught him.

Both the hobbits fared better than the archer. The black arrow yet protruded from his shoulder, and the pain was so intense he had difficulty staying on his feet. Uruk-hai were all around him. All had daggers or whips, whereas he had nothing. Worse, the arrow had apparently been coated with some sort of paralyzing poison. He could feel it coursing through his veins; it was getting harder and harder to move.

But nothing had happened. The Orcs had done nothing. Gasping, Legolas looked up to see them all ringed round him. Inwardly he groaned: he knew what was coming. They wanted to have some fun with him before taking him prisoner again. What Orc could pass up the opportunity to torment a hated Elf?

One reached out and shoved him roughly. Through the drugged haze, the archer saw Kashgûl's leering face.

He also saw Kashgûl's dagger.

In one smooth motion, Legolas shot out an arm, tore the blade from its scabbard and slashed the Uruk across the face. Due to the poison hampering his movements, he did not score a direct hit; just a shallow line across the bridge of his adversary's nose. But the Orc fell back nonetheless, a bit shocked at the Elf's daring. He touched a claw to his face and drew it away black with Orc blood, and there was murder in his eyes when he looked at the archer.

"I will kill you for that," Kashgûl promised. His reclaimed dagger spun in practiced circles as he toyed with it.

Legolas spat in his face. "_Degi en cunn_, then, if he means so little to you," he snarled back, thinking the reminder of his rank might—however slightly—prevent Kashgûl killing him.

The Orc was in quite a predicament. If he killed the Elf, Saruman would have something to say about it. But if he did not, he would be letting an insult go unchallenged. Such things an Uruk-hai simply did not do. He must kill him…but he could not. He must…could not! Must, could not! _Must!_

Kashgûl lashed out just once with a roar of frustrated rage. He punched out with the crosspiece of his dagger, connecting cleanly across the archer's face, the blade razing a streak of blood on one high cheekbone.

"Remember—_sha!—punishment is only put off!" With one last murderous glare, he whirled about and stomped away._

Behind him, Legolas slid slowly down the stone wall. A thin trail of blood followed, further wetting the rain-soaked stone. His vision was blurring. He felt as if he were receding down a narrow black tunnel. As the Uruks grabbed him, roughly rebinding his hands and feet, he lapsed into merciful unconsciousness.

**ειδαсαг**

Aragorn brushed the rock wall with one hand. His fingers came away stained brown with dried blood. He sniffed it once, and a grim look stole over his face.

"What news, Aragorn?" Gimli asked gruffly.

"This is Elven blood," the Ranger responded. _Ai, Legolas, mellon nin. I will repay the one that did this to you. _ "An Elf was wounded here last night."

"Legolas?" Frodo questioned, anxiety tingeing his tone. It was more of a statement than a question. "What of Merry and Pippin?" Of the three that had gone missing, those two were closest to him. He certainly liked Legolas, of course, but Merry and Pippin were his kin, if not by blood then by race. Long had they been his friends. He desperately wanted to find them—before they were hurt.

"They, too, stood here, along with a company of Orcs. They are not harmed—or were not when they paused here. These signs are not more than two days old. We are catching up to them."

But worry still lined the Ranger's face. Boromir saw it. "What ails you, Aragorn?"

"I do not know," he answered honestly. "There is something about this place that troubles me…I feel as if our purpose here is known. Something is lying in wait for us. It does not intend for us to continue our chase. And the Orcs will be at Isengard within a day."

The members of the Fellowship drew closer together. Aragorn gathered Frodo to him, and Boromir, Sam. Gimli brought his axe down from his shoulder and slapped it against his palm. "Let them come," he growled. "They will get more than they bargain for!"

The Company looked all about them, straining their eyes and ears for some hint, some clue. But there was nothing.

Only the sighing of the breeze.

**ειδαсαг**

Through the black haze that yet permeated his vision, Legolas could see his destination on the horizon: Orthanc. Mount Fang, the Cunning Mind. The black tower gleamed redly in the last rays of a dying Anar.

He would be there by nightfall tomorrow, to face whatever tortures Saruman had planned for him.

"Legolas?" A voice filtered through his thoughts. It was Pippin. "Legolas, are you all right? You look troubled."

The Elf turned to face the hobbit and winced. The black arrow yet pierced his shoulder, for the Orcs had not deigned to remove it, and any movement was painful. His torn flesh still seeped blood, even after hours: a bad sign. Infection was starting in. He wished he had his hands free to pull the arrow out. Instead, he was still on his knees, still bound to a post like he had originally been. Merry and Pippin were in the same position, though with considerably less discomfort, for their bonds were of rope, while his were of wire twine. The Orcs were taking more precautions with him. The edges had long ago begun cutting into his wrists.

He sighed. "Aye, Pippin. I am all right."

"You may fool the stupid Orcs with that, but not me," Merry interrupted.

The archer had to smile at that. "It is nothing. I was only remembering my home," he lied.

"Will you tell us about it?" Pippin requested eagerly, exhaustion melting away at the opportunity to hear more of the Elves. Though he had not Sam's love or admiration for them, he did have a Hobbit's curiosity.

Legolas laughed again and agreed. It would be better by far than sitting in silence, hearing nothing but his thoughts. "It is most beautiful by night, when the stars cast their twinkling light across the trees. The moon can always be seen, full and round like a pearl from Eär. Well do I recall wandering the woods on such nights, singing…leaves whispering in the trees…with silver lights gleaming amidst the branches…" He glanced at Pippin. The hobbit was nearly asleep, drowsiness having overcome him with the aid of the Elf's musical voice. Merry still sat upright, but kept nodding. The archer could not help but smile once more. The hobbit stirred, coming awake just long enough to murmur sleepily, "What else?"

The stars were just beginning to shine in the sky, bringing to mind a song he had heard in Rivendell, a song to Elbereth:

_A Elbereth Gilthoniel,_

_Silivren penna míriel_

_O menel aglar elenath!_

_Na__-chaered palan-díriel_

_O galadhremmin ennorath,_

_Fanuilos, le linnathin_

_Nef aear, sí nef aearon!_

The Elf's silver voice mingled freely with the stars' silver light. A hint of a smile touching his face, Merry too finally dropped off to sleep.

Legolas fell silent, remembering his time under the eaves of Taur-en-Daedelos. Memory became dream, and he slipped away into the open-eyed sleep of the Elves.

Twinkling silently, the stars shone down.

**ειδαсαг**

Saruman grinned, a hungry, rapacious grin that sent shivers down the backs of his Orkish lieutenants. The Istar ignored them.

For his prey would be here soon.

As for their followers, those insignificant would-be rescuers, perhaps it was time to send a message to them…

**ειδαсαг**

there's chapter four. merry and pippin **still aren't in character, but i've decided i kind of like them that way. so that's how they'll be.**

translations:

1) 'Slay the Prince'

2) 'sha' is just another orkish expression of contempt.

3) 'my friend'

4) _'Elbereth Star-Kindler,_

_White glittering slants down sparkling like jewels_

_From the firmament the glory of the star-host!_

_To-remote distance far-having gazed_

_From the tree-tangled middle-lands,_

_Fanuilos, to thee I will chant_

_On this side of the ocean, here on this side of the __Great__Ocean__!'___

so. howzat? i haven't gotten any new reviews…*sniff sniff*. dunno when I'll have chapter five up, i'm awfully busy. my teachers have begun to take delight in tormenting their poor overworked students with even more homework, if such is possible. it might take me a while to write the next section. but if nobody reads it anyway, then it shouldn't matter! until then…namárië!


	5. Attack

Without warning, it plummeted out of the sky like a thunderbolt. Aragorn shouted and shoved Frodo down beneath him, protecting the hobbit with his own body as the creature passed over them both. Shrieking with rage at having missed its target, the thing flared its wings, braking sharply, and spun to face them.

Frodo gasped when he saw it. _Nazgûl!_ his mind screamed. He was only partially correct, for the creature was not a Ringwraith; it was merely the mount of one. But that made it no less frightening. The hobbit's gaze roved from one wingtip fifty feet over to the other. Covered in black, leathery skin, it exuded a foul stench like carrion. Enormous talons gleamed on its two feet. It roared, maw opening wide to reveal row upon row of daggerlike fangs nearly as long as Frodo's forearm, long tail thrashing behind it. Spines ran the length of its back. Batlike wings flaring wide, it glared murderously back at him.

Aragorn was already down on one knee and firing arrows at the beast. Several did not connect because of the odd air currents its wings created. Now more than ever did he miss Legolas—the Elf could hit _anything_, cross breeze or no. The few that hit did not penetrate the leathery armor; indeed, they seemed only to anger the creature. Black wings pumping, it lifted off and darted towards them with a speed that belied its size. The Ranger dared not fire again: he had but one arrow left.

Gimli roared and planted himself in front of it, hefting his axe. "Come, wyrm!" he bellowed. "Let us see if you can best a dwarf of Erebor!"

Sam, pausing in his frantic dodge for a moment, was certain that Gimli was mad, but then decided it was really none of his business.

The fell beast shrieked again and dove at the taunting dwarf. At the last possible second, Gimli threw himself to one side, yanked a throwing axe from his belt, and hurled it with all his strength. That blade managed to do what Aragorn's arrows had not, piercing the black flesh and eliciting a scream of pain. Whipping about, the creature came around for another pass. This time it did not attempt to snatch any of the Company with its maw, but instead reached forwards with raking talons.

Boromir gave a stifled shout and fell, a claw tearing a wicked gash down the length of one arm. His bracer snagged on its tip. There was a sharp crack of bone, and he cried out again, but thrust his sword through the film of one wing in retribution. A ragged tear opened from the wingtip twenty feet on to its body as it passed by. Air rushed through the gap, and when the beast tried to swerve to avoid the canyon wall, it collided directly with the cliff, unable to fly.

But it was still quite able to move, and move it did.

Straight towards Boromir, sprawled unprotected at the wall's base, cradling his torn and broken arm. He had dropped his sword, and though it lay only a few feet away, he would never be able to reach it with the unbroken limb in time.

The fell beast lunged forward, maw opening wide.

**ειδαсαг**

Saruman looked down at the Elf and the two hobbits that were thrown at his feet. All three of them were blindfolded, hands bound: the hobbits' in front, the Elf's behind his back. The little folk were allowed to remain standing, but the Uruk-hai guards shoved the Elf to his knees. He landed heavily on the stone floor.

The Istar took hold of the blinds and ripped them off one by one, hobbits first, grabbing their chins and forcing each of them to look at him. The first, the taller of the two, stared back defiantly; if he was frightened, he did not show it. The second looked back not quite as boldly, but more shrewdly. He would be the more intelligent, and therefore the more dangerous.

The wizard saved the Elf for last, tearing off the blindfold, studying the creature as he did so. It was in poor condition: lacerations, bruises, abraded wrists, and most notably the arrow in its shoulder. The Istar smiled slightly at the black fire and the still-constant bleeding; at least that had gone aright. But despite these wounds, however, the golden hair still gleamed. The azure eyes still shone. The lithe body was still whole.

These things would have to be taken care of.

Perhaps a small demonstration first, to instill some fear in the Halflings as much as for its own sake. So in one smooth motion, Saruman reached out and tore the arrow from the Elf's shoulder.

Legolas gasped and twisted in pain, falling to the stone, breaking the Orc guards' hold on him. Bright scarlet streamers of blood wound down the front of his tunic, mixed with other, more sinister black streaks. He gritted his teeth and shut his eyes tightly, writhing against the agony. His hands were still bound behind him; else he would have reached to stem the crimson flow. But he would not cry out. He would not give Saruman the craven traitor that satisfaction. _It should not hurt this much! his mind cried, almost incoherent. _It should not—hurt—this badly—__

Merry and Pippin could only look on in horror, for they could do nothing. Despite that obvious fact, however, the former darted forward to lend what aid he could. When one of the Uruks raised his club, the Istar raised a hand for him to hold. Licking his thin lips, Saruman watched in delight and waited for the right moment. Just as Merry managed to raise the wounded archer off the floor with his bound hands, the wizard let his hand drop, and the waiting Uruk brought his club down hard on the unwary little hobbit. Merry crumpled, senseless. The Elf was too dazed by pain to support his own body weight, and he, too, fell once more.

A word from Saruman, and the Orcs roughly jerked the archer upright. Their claws dug cruelly into the porcelain skin. They had to hold him up, else he surely would have slumped down again. Filthy hands yanked at the golden hair until the wizard could look into the glazed sapphire eyes. The Istar stood for a moment, as if searching for something, and then slapped the Elf once across the face. The Uruks let him drop.

Legolas lay, stunned and almost unconscious, as Saruman gave orders for him and the hobbits to be taken to adjacent, but separate, cells. He felt the brawny arms of the Uruks close about his body, felt himself lifted and borne away, and then deposited unceremoniously on yet another stone floor. A final kick to the ribs made him double up. His last thought before being engulfed in soul-deep blackness was, _Where are the stars? Elbereth, where are you?_

**ειδαсαг**

wow. okay, i have this nice long list of excuses, which i'm sure you don't want to hear. but i was on horseback for nearly the entire weekend…i had loads of homework…my spanish teacher is a $!%!$^&#*…and it goes on. say, no translations in this chapter. well, there would have been, but i couldn't find the words for 'where' for legolas' last thought. so i guess it's on to reviews (yay! my favorite part!):

Aarien—sorry it was so short! but you know me…damn perfectionism. what'm i ever gonna do?

emma—thanks for catching that! i keep leaving holes in my literature. what i **meant** to say was, yes, merry and pippin are still tied up, so they can't help. *wicked grin* course, i planned it that way.

Ecri—yeah, i meant to have them experience some emotional angst, but i kinda forgot. i tried to fix it. did i do better this time around?

White Wolf—how on earth could i have forgotten that? it was high on my list of planned agonies! no worries, i took care of it. howzat?

Flames of Udûn—score one for eldacar! i am now classified as 'life', if by 'life behind this story' you meant me. well, if that's one of the nicest reviews you've ever written, it's also one of the nicest reviews i've ever gotten. *blushes* moulin rouge, eh? never saw it. i wanted to, but never did. and btw *cringes at self's lack of knowledge, speaks in very small voice* who're peter jackson and philipa boyen? familiar names…i feel so ignorant…

Enigma Jade—school. ah, yes. my own personal hell. and the saddest thing is that i actually **pay** to go there…not of my own volition, mind, but still. it rankles. glad you like my work; hope it stays that way!

Aireroswen—so, you enjoy the torture? yes! i've found a kindred spirit (well, another one, really, but whatever)! hope you liked this chapter, it was the most angsty of them all so far. *evil chuckle* but i'm only just getting started! any suggestions? i have a couple good torments lined up, but i'm always open to new ideas!


	6. Beat Him

With another hideous screech that echoed off the walls of the canyon, the winged beast leapt at its prey. Though it could no longer fly, it moved with surprising speed at the wounded, crumpled form of Boromir. And he was helpless!

Aragorn was too far away—Gimli yet lay prone where he had dived—Frodo was still behind the Ranger—

With a courage that shocked even himself, Sam Gamgee dashed ahead with his little blade outstretched. _I am mad_, he thought to himself all the while. _I really am completely mad. Perhaps it was best that he was preoccupied with his thoughts, or he might not have had the nerve to continue. As it was, however, his little hobbit-sword stabbed out and up, shearing through the stinking black hide, opening a great wound in the beast's belly. The creature screamed horribly and turned its fanged maw at the Halfling, unintentionally facing the rest of the Company. And in that instant Aragorn fired his last arrow._

The shaft almost drifted through the air, slowly…ever so slowly…surely it had stopped moving…but miraculously, it did not deviate from its path. There were no interfering winds—surely that would not matter, because it had completely stopped…

Until it plunged directly into the beast's slitted eye. For a second, the thing seemed to register neither the wound nor its own demise. Then it screamed, the sound resounding through the gorge, seemingly for eternity, its body writhing in its death throes. The whiplike tail flew through the air and struck the hapless Sam, sending him into the opposite wall. But suddenly, the beast was silent, so that the Companions could hear the wind whispering, and slowly, almost majestically, it toppled over with a crash that shook the stone walls, and the head flopped at Aragorn's feet.

"Sam!" Frodo cried, dashing forwards to where the other hobbit lay. Sam sat up, groaning and rubbing his head, but otherwise quite whole. His only injury was a small cut above one eyebrow that trickled blood.

Aragorn merely stared at the hobbit for a moment. He laughed. "Come, Master Samwise," he cried. "Let us take care of your wound, and inspect this great beast you have slain!" Then, taking some _athelas_ out of his beltpouch and using some water from his drinking flask, he washed and rinsed the cut thoroughly. When he was done, the injury was nearly invisible.

"Aragorn!" Gimli called from across the canyon. "Come, and quickly! Boromir has need of your healing skills!"

The Ranger swore in a language Sam did not know, the smile wiped from his face. He dashed across the rock to arrive at the Gondorean's side. Boromir was breathing heavily. Blood soaked one arm, running in scarlet rivers from three deep parallel gashes. The same arm also hung at an odd angle. From just a glance Aragorn could see the bone was broken in at least three places.

"Strider?" Sam asked worriedly. "Boromir'll be all right, won't 'e?"

Without answering, the Ranger knelt and placed a hand on the Gondorean's shoulder. He seemed to be questioning, almost asking permission for something. The wounded man, teeth clenched, nodded once.

And Aragorn drove his fist into Boromir's temple.

**ειδαсαг**

_The forests were burning!_

_The Elf spun in horror, lungs stinging from the smoke, eyes burning, searching for some escape from that horrible picture. Trees, stripped of their bark and leaves, reached blackened limbs to the sky like so many beseeching fingers. Their tips dripped crimson, and the copper smell of blood wafted to and fro on the air. Shadowy figures stretched towards him, as a hideous wailing touched his sensitive Elven ears, exactly like that he had heard when shot by Kashgûl's arrow. Faces hovered before him. All were contorted in pain, mouthing soundless pleas for help, reaching with invisible fingers to drag him into their embrace. He recoiled in horror and ran._

_He fled on and on, looking, desperately searching, for something—anything!—that would let him escape. He recognized these woods now: they were of his homeland. Where was his home? The __palace__ of __Taur-en-Daedelos__, where was it? Where was his father, Thranduil, king of Mirkwood? And all his friends?_

_The forests were burning, and all the while, the scent of blood lingered in the air._

_Suddenly a voice called out to him, barely audible above the shrieking wind. But he recognized it. It was his father screaming._

_"Laiqulassë!__ Ai, ionn nin! __Tua amin! Tua amin, amin kyermallë!"_

_Haunted by the voice of his father screaming in agony, the Elf covered his ears and fled, stumbling and tripping, trying to escape this land of black and blood, this land of nameless nightmares._

**ειδαсαг**

Legolas awoke gasping with a strangled cry, eyes wild and drenched in sweat. The arrow wound in his shoulder throbbed afresh with a vengeance. He shivered. Vainly he attempted to clean the tear with a piece of cloth torn from one tattered sleeve, grimacing every time it touched the gash, but soon the fabric was soaked red and to no avail. Abandoning the futile effort, the archer tossed the cloth away. _A dream,_ he thought. _ Only a nightmare. However, dreams were more than mere dreams to his kind. The thought did not comfort him._

"Merry? Pippin?" he rasped. He was incredibly thirsty, but there was not a drop of water to be found in this stone cell where Saruman's Uruks had apparently put him. Nor was there much light. The only source of it came from without, leaving a small square of torchlight on the floor through the door's barred window. As to the cell itself, it appeared to be nothing but cold damp stone, with a naught in the form of an exit but for a single ironbound door.

"Legolas?" a small, frightened voice answered him. "Legolas, are you there? Where are you?"

"In a cell near to yours, Master Peregrin, or so I would assume, if indeed you are in a cell," the Elf responded, having now identified the hobbit's voice. "You sound quite close. Is Merry with you?"

"Yes, but an Orc hit him on the head with a club, and he has not yet awakened. Are you all right?"

Before Legolas could reply, his cell door swung open on rusty hinges. Framed in the doorway in a pool of torchlight stood a burly Orc, sword and whip at its waist. "Come," it growled. "Saruman wants you."

The archer spat at the creature's filthy boots. "Then let him come and get me."

The Uruk shrugged as if it mattered not, and in truth, Legolas thought, it probably didn't. It beckoned, and three others entered the cell with it. All were wearing eager, malicious grins. They were glad the Elf had resisted; now they could have some fun.

Swords rasped free of their scabbards as the first Orc uncurled his whip from his belt and delicately ran his claws down its blackened length. The words rolled off his tongue like the weapon's own snap.

"Beat him."

**ειδαсαг**

so there you have it: chapter six. as to translations, there's only the one: "Legolas! Ai, my son! Help me! Help me, I pray you!" it was supposed to be 'help me, please' or 'help me, i beg of you' but i couldn't find the words. o well. i know this chapter was relatively agony-free, but i promise the next one won't be like that—ho, no no no…and it was too short again. sorry, i'm trying to keep up!

and to my *marvelous* reviewers, all four of em:

Lisseyelen—hee! why thank you. *bows* i had **way** too much fun writing that chapter. **way** too much fun. but i couldn't fit in all the angst i wanted to. but that's ok—next chapter will solve that problem!

Sirithiriel—dude, that is a way cool name. but no, i wont spoil it for you; i guess you'll just have to keep reading and find out! *wicked laugh*

Nazgul—oo, high praise! *blush* you couldn't find anything to criticize? crikey. wow, i feel special. don't kill me pls—i updated as fast as i could! no wrath! spare me! aaaaaaaaaaahh!

MoroTheWolfGod—more torture? why certainly! just wait til next chapter. there will be some good scenes there…as to aragorn and co, i'm not really sure how soon they'll find them. but yes, he will definitely have some small explosions in his head when he does…*evil chuckle, rubs hands together*


	7. Pain

Pippin felt sick. He knew where Legolas was now: in the cell adjacent to his and Merry's. Part of him was glad of that; there was comfort in being together. But at the same time he wished they were far, far apart, so that he wouldn't have to hear the horrible sounds of whips cracking, iron boots connecting, swords whistling through the air, and the harsh, cruel Orkish laughter. Why had he ever left the Shire? The green hills, the cozy hobbit-holes, the sweet simplicity of life…why had he left? He could be there right now, snug in his chair by the fire, or strolling through the woods in the brisk air. Instead…he was here. Here in a cold, dark, dank cell, where his only companions were an unconscious Hobbit and an Elf in the process of being tortured whom he couldn't even see. He sank deeper and deeper into his dark thoughts, melancholy threatening to overwhelm him. Why had he ever left the Shire?

"Pip?" whispered a voice behind him. "What are those awful sounds?"

Pippin turned to gaze at his friend. Merry looked terrible. A swelling, bleeding lump on the side of his forehead sent blood trickling into one eye; his face was pale and dirty; his clothes were scuffed and torn.

"It's Legolas," Pippin answered, haunted. "They're beating him."

Pain and exhaustion forgotten, the other hobbit jumped up and ran to the wall, shouting at the top of his lungs. "Legolas? Legolas! _Legolas!_" He turned beseechingly to Pippin, and to his surprise, the latter saw tears in his fellow's eyes. "We have to help him. Can't we do something?"

The Took was about to respond—though what he would have said, he didn't know—when a section of the wall in front of them wavered and disappeared. Replacing that area was an enormous image—of Saruman. "Watch and learn, little Halflings," it said, and then the picture shifted. Now they could see into the next cell, and the sight shocked them into immobility:

Legolas lay curled up on the floor, facing the hobbits and surrounded by four Orcs, all of whom held whips or swords. Those instruments had not been idle. Lashes crisscrossed the side and arm that were turned up to his captors, punctuated by a shallow gash from a sword every now and again. His shielding tunic was ripped to shreds in those areas. Now it served no purpose but to soak up the blood that ran from his wounds. Bruises blossomed like evil flowers all along his body, visible between shreds of cloth. The Uruks had been quick to add iron boots and gauntleted fists to their weapons' list. A particularly vicious-looking bruise on his rib cage indicated a broken bone. Blood and filth soiled the golden hair, and agony glazed his sapphire eyes. He had a split lip and a black eye; the cut on his cheek had reopened. But he still did not make a sound.

Merry dashed to his feet and hurled himself at the image. Instead of running to the archer's side as he had intended, he crashed straight into an invisible wall and dropped to his knees. _Watch and learn, little Halflings_, said a voice in their heads. Saruman!

The Istar stood impassively to one side, supervising the beating. Something akin to a sadistic grin lifted one corner of his bearded mouth as he watched.

Still on his knees, Merry placed his hands on the wall and shoved, harder, harder, _harder, as though by exerting enough force he could reach through and stop the archer's torment. "Legolas!"_

Astonishingly, the archer lifted his head from the floor at the sound of Merry's cry. Pippin caught a glimmer of hope in the Elf's eyes before the biggest Orc cracked his whip downwards again, adding yet another bright red streak, and Legolas curled up again to protect himself.

_My apologies, said Saruman's voice in Merry's head. _I'm afraid that won't work. For though you can see and hear him, he cannot see or hear you. Did you catch sight of that newest lash? That was your fault, Master Meriadoc. You cried out; you made him look up. It was because of you.__

Merry reeled slightly. _That's not true!_ his own mind cried out in shock. _You're wrong!_

_Am I? asked Saruman silkily. __Believe what you wish. Now, if you will excuse me, I have business to attend to._

With that, the Istar paced away from his space in the corner and spoke a harsh, guttural phrase. Obediently the four Uruks yanked the Elf to his feet and slammed him against the wall, holding him in place with manacles conjured from thin air. When they were done, Saruman waved them off and stepped forward, black staff in one hand. He eyed the beaten archer with no small amount of satisfaction as he removed a curved dagger from within the folds of his robes.

Slowly, Legolas lifted his head to glare at the wizard. "_'Kshlóki lle,_" he slurred, blood following every word from his battered mouth.

Saruman slapped him across the face with the flat of the dagger, intentionally lessening the angle so that the blade sliced a shallow cut in passing. The Elf's head cracked against the wall and he slumped.

The Istar began to pace with the air of a disappointed but loving father. "Do you know what you could become?" he asked rhetorically, not really expecting an answer from the half-conscious archer. But his voice…sweet as honey, soothing, benevolent…

Legolas felt himself falling under the spell. He tried to shake himself free, but his wounded body could not front the energy. Perhaps Mithrandir was wrong…perhaps Saruman was no enemy. Yes, that must be it. And the Elves were enemies too, wicked, false creatures that they were. All the wizard wanted was to cleanse Arda. Would he help? _Of course,_ the archer almost said. But something warned him against it, some inner instinct that was hidden too deep for Saruman's trickery to influence. And now the Elf could hear the Istar speaking words unshielded by the spell. Cleanse Arda? Indeed! What the wizard really wanted was to purge all the lands, destroy everything that was good in Middle-Earth. Would he help!

"…assist me if I so asked?" the traitor was saying.

Even through the agonized haze that permeated every fiber of his being, Legolas managed to raise his sapphire eyes to meet the Istar's own. Cold, black, and empty, they were, and the Elf could not help but shudder inwardly at their utter malice. But he was still able to choke out four words:

"_Vanwa—ba'quenatamin, dhaeraow!"_

**ειδαсαг**

Boromir started slightly, as though he'd fallen asleep for a split second, and then his eyes lost focus and glassed over. He slumped to the ground.

Sam, too, froze as if struck. "What're you _doing?_" he demanded furiously. "He's _hurt_, can't you see?! 'Ow's that going to 'elp 'im?"

Gimli placed a calming hand on his shoulder. "Easy, Master Samwise—his arm is broken, and badly at that, and there is no way for Aragorn to set it without Boromir bringing every Uruk in these hills upon our heads with his cries."

Aragorn said nothing, grimly continuing to tear strips from a blanket to serve as bandages. Brusquely, he ordered Frodo to collect six arrows from the dead beast. When the hobbit did so, the Ranger took them in hand and with a brutal _crack forced Boromir's arm back into place. Frodo looked slightly sickened at the sound. Snapping off the heads and fletchings, Aragorn used the arrow shafts as splints, binding them tightly to the Gondorean's arm. Small puddles of blood were pooling on the ground when he had finished._

After the broken bone was taken care of, the Ranger moved onto the three parallel gashes made by the now-dead flyer's talons. More blanket strips. And still more. The wounds would not stop bleeding.

By the time he reached the third one, the dressing on the first was already turning crimson.

**ειδαсαг**

Saruman lashed out at the defiant Elf with the butt of his black staff, raising yet another bruise on the creature's fair skin.

"Clearly, Master Elf," the Istar hissed, all trace of polish and perfection gone from his voice, "you were not listening. I command you, join me!"

Still conscious—barely—Legolas felt a wave of loathing. "_Autllië miqul-liantë, ar'estelamín cárakta sakkat sauralambellë tuulo'antollë!"_

The wizard's face darkened with rage, but when he spoke, it was softly, silkily—menacingly so. "Are you certain?  I must admit, I am disappointed. Elves are said to have keen ears, though apparently you do not. I believe I must attend to that." The curved dagger he had drawn before reappeared in his clawlike hand as he advanced upon the helpless Elf, fingers crooking in a cabalistic sign.

The archer saw him advance, but when he tried to twist free of the shackles he found himself unable to move so much as a muscle. Evidently Saruman's hand sign had not been without purpose. He tried once more, and then again, to struggle, each time without success, each time more frantically.

The wizard's approach was slow and inexorable. Saruman grinned sadistically as he grabbed a handful of blonde hair and viciously yanked the golden head to one side. The motion exposed the tip of one delicately pointed ear.

The dagger's curve would fit nicely to that point.

The cold metal blade played back and forth over the ear as Saruman commented, "Last chance," releasing the spell just enough for the creature to answer.

"Never," the Elf whispered.

And like a searing line of icy fire, the dagger sliced through his flesh.

**ειδαсαг**

This time Legolas could not hold back his cry of pain. Elven ears were incredibly sensitive; and to have one actually _cut off_…it hurt like all the demons of Morgoroth. He felt sick. The world spun about him; there was a roaring in his ears—all the voices of madness were screaming again. And worst of all, he could hear his father once more.

_Ada__! he cried in his mind. __Ada__, no—stop! I beg of you, whoever you are that is tormenting my father, please let him go! I will do anything you ask! Anything!_

Just before Saruman snapped his fingers, jolting the archer out of his nightmare, he felt a flicker of consciousness awaken and begin to respond to his promise. Black…slow…_evil._

Then the shackles vanished, and the paralysis spell with them. The Elf fell to the cold stone floor, clutching at his ripped ear, swallowing bile.

"I believe I will keep this," he heard Saruman say thoughtfully. He looked up in time to see the Istar toss and catch a small triangular shape—

The world spun again. Blackness hovered at the edges of his vision.

As Saruman and the Uruks exited the cell, leaving the Elf lying in a growing pool of his own blood, Legolas broke down and wept.

**ειδαсαг**

phew! well, that was fun. i want you all to know, i seriously enjoyed that. now i'm in a really good mood. but torture scenes tend to do that to me…o well. i'd forgotten how much i loved doing these.

translations:

1) "Evil snake."

2) "Over—my dead body, traitor!"

3) "Go kiss a spider, and may its pincers tear your foul tongue from your mouth!" (this is actually a direct quote from book one of The Dark Elf Trilogy, which is one of my favorite books, believe it or not. *snerk*)

yes! reviews! the bestest part! and i want to say a big, huge, enormous, etc. thank you to lady v for putting me in her fic. *falls on knees in gratitude* liss, jarlaxle says thank you too (tho u already knew that). thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou... maybe i'll just stop there…but **thank you**. and yes, my reviews are way out of order, but i'm just writing em as i see em:

Karri—well done characterizations? yes! i win! to all you people who said i was out of character, i say nyah! point for me! but anyway…thanks vera much for reading; glad you liked it!

Witchmaster—long chapters. i seem to be having trouble with those. this was definitely the longest one so far…and the most fun, i might add, which probably explains it. *sigh* i'm a sucker for torture. (as tho u hadn't already noticed)

Aarien—pssst to you too! o. oops. that's what i **meant** to say…i mean, of course i knew that, i was just testing you! slipping, is it? i'll show you slipping…(now's when you flee)

lil*bee—**poor legolas?! i did **not** just hear you say that. poor legolas, indeed! thbbbb! *sticks out tongue, trails off into grumbling* poor legolas…poor legolas my fundament!**

Aireroswen—sank yuh vera muchly! sadistic bitch, is it? well, can't say i haven't heard myself called the same…o well…it's the price we pay for being the way we are, isn't it *sigh* but so be it.

falcon—woohoo! i win again! *blush* now, what should i do next? o yes…the whip-thing…(ask liss, she knows)

X Moonchik—*thank you lady v* well i hope u can read the rest of it soon, cuz i've got some big plans…nice and angsty, too.

Sake Girl Duelist—wow, six reviews? *blushes, feels vera special* how is it that u have this much time on your hands? For the life of me, i cant seem to get more than five minutes a day! (which would be when i sleep, of course) but thank you, and i'll try to check out your fic when i can.

Valimalirit—mainly legolas angst? well, yes, but i plan to incorporate pain from/for all characters. it's more fun that way, see. any ideas?

Keeper of Seas—**another 'poor elf'?! what is this world coming to? at this rate, there won't be a place for people like me anymore…how sad!**

Brittney—**and yet another 'don't hurt legolas'?! my lord, what are you people on? no, just kidding. as to the coffee high thing, i'm that way all the time, so don't worry—it's a good enough excuse for me!**

X Moonchik—waaaaait a minnit, didn't i just talk to you? yeah, i did, but o well. so be it. sorry—i'm trying to update quick, but i can only type so fast! the ideas just spill out of the hole in my head faster than i can use them, which causes a delay, cuz then i have to remember whatever it was that got spilt…

Witchmaster—and you too, come to think of it. just talked to you as well. sorry about the cliffies, but you gotta admit, they keep you reading! *coughcoughlisseyelencough*

Z—*thanks again liss* i know, my chapters are too short, but i can't seem to get them longer without making them boring. Besides, i have so much fun with cliffhangers (as Witchmaster ought to know) that when i find one i just **have** to stop there, you know?

Kaimelieamin—waiter: uh, chef, that'll be some more legolas angst at table one… chef (me): coming right up! any ideas? i'm always open to fresh blood in my game.

Ryoko—yep, my very first fanfic. my first fic was 'seven stars', which i posted, but i think its size intimidates everybody, so no one ever reads it. that was my brainchild. But then one night i got really bored and decided to concoct a random story…the result you see before you, and since ppl liked it i wrote some more…and some more…and some more…and i'm working on the next some more, but you know…

Karone—*thank you lady v* and is it just me, or are there two of you? no, it's probably just me. but as to 'not a lot of legolas torture' i dunno…this chapter may have disappointed you a bit in that respect, hm?

Vana Everyoung—eldacar (says to muse #3): she's not crazy, she's just like me. and if you think that means she's crazy, well, my friend jarlaxle would like to meet you and debate upon that point. jarlaxle: *grins and fiddles with dagger* eldacar: ooh, he's got that look again…if i were you, i'd ruuuuun!

Wilwarin—sorry, i do try to update as fast as i can, but this is hard! *whine* ok, whining is a sure way to get meself slapped, isn't it. as to elvish, i'm proud to say i did those myself—with the help of a few wordlists. try http://www.elendor.net/translator.php

**damn, those reviews took forever! not that i'm complaining, mind. *thank you lady v***


	8. Escape

Aragorn bit his lip in frustration. Despite all the tasks already upon his shoulders, here was one more! Boromir was gravely wounded. He could not possibly continue tracking Merry, Pippin, and Legolas, but there was no way the Ranger could leave him, either. Yet Aragorn _had_ to find his missing companions. In short, he had to carry on, and though Boromir could not come, neither could he stay.

Strider sighed heavily. His decision was made.

"Gimli," he began, "you will remain with Boromir and the hobbits. Make for Lothlórien—that is the only place for him to receive adequate care. Go northward on our path of these recent days through the Misty Mountains, and when you come upon the stream of Nimrodel, follow it eastward until you reach the Golden Wood. I shall join you there within four and one half tendays—but if I do not, I leave it to you to finish our quest. _Do not stop until the task is done._ Tarry not and worry not for me. The fate of the Ring will rule us all, and it is far more important an errand."

The stolid dwarf looked at him searchingly for a moment, and then gave a single nod. "I will do as you say, Aragorn, son of Arathorn."

"Strider, wait!" It was Frodo, clutching at the Ranger's arm. "You cannot leave us—we will never succeed. You do not mean to leave us here, do you?!"

"Aye, that I do. I must. It is the only way. Were there another, by the Valar, I would take it, but there is none."

So saying, Aragorn snatched up his bow and dashed away, and not even the high little hobbit-voice calling him back could stop him.

**ειδαсαг**

Legolas drew in a great, shuddering sigh. The intake of air made his broken rib shift, and he cried out with the pain. He would have wept, but he had no tears left to cry. Gasping in agony, the Elf managed to lever himself up on his arms, dragging his wounded body a few feet to the side. The ever-caring Orcs had tossed a fetid bowl of water on the floor before leaving. Half of it had slopped out, and what remained smelled as though it had come from the Dead Marshes themselves, but water was water, and the archer's throat burned too badly to pass it up. He drank as much as he could force past his unwilling lips and splashed a handful on his face.

The Elf propped himself against the wall, dragging the bowl closer and tearing a strip of cloth from his tattered tunic. Slowly, gingerly, he dipped the material in the water to begin the delicate process of cleaning his wounds—those he could reach, anyway. He was careful not to breathe too deeply, because doing so hurt his ribs.

It was a long, agonizing process, and when it was done, all Legolas could do was drop the cloth into the bowl and slide down the wall into painless oblivion.

**ειδαсαг**

Merry was having a dream.

_He stood inside a bubble of time, or rather, of no time. Faces drifted by; places he had known slid past. One by one he saw each of his Fellowship companions: Gandalf—Gandalf, who had fallen in Moria—smoking his pipe, a troubled look on his face; Gimli, slapping his axe into his palm and frowning; Boromir, sharpening his great sword; Strider, toying absently with the Evenstar's jewel; Sam supporting an exhausted Frodo—what was it that had sapped so much of his strength? And Pippin, also smoking, biting his lip; and Legolas, who turned to look at Merry over his shoulder, then went back to gazing at a bloodred sunrise._

_"A red sun rises," he dimly heard the Elf's voice say, though the archer outside the bubble said nothing. "Blood has been spilled this night."_

_It was true, the Hobbit saw, for a crimson trickle wound past the Elf's feet, pooling on the blackened ground. The dream-Merry looked up, meaning to ask whose blood it was, but was shocked into silence when he saw it was the archer's own. Scarlet drops accentuated every edge of every lash on the pale skin, like gems on a macabre red and white tapestry. The blue and black flowers of bruises blossomed against the milky background, dark lilies floating atop light water. The tip of one ear was missing._

_Before Merry's horrified eyes, Legolas collapsed on the blasted ground. That single moment seemed an hour, one long, terrible hour. But his sapphire orbs opened as he smiled and began to sing._

_Edhélwen__ eller naë en'iant,_

_Siliéngil__ ed'rë:_

_Nimgollo__'hë rime yassen malta,_

_Daltuup__'hë en celeb-windë._

_Elen__ nardë deno'tirne'hë,_

_Me'a naë no'loske'hë_

_Vee'anor__ deno'i'malolwea_

_E'Lorien__ Tel'vanya.___

_Loske'hë__ naë ann, ranquie'hë naë nim,_

_Ar'vanya__ hë naë ar'theil;_

_Ar'e'i'sul__ hë autë vee'kalina_

_Vee__'lassë en tathar-orn._

_Aru__ i'lantaë en Nimrodel,_

_Ed'alu__ atin ar'him,_

_Ouma'hë__ vee'lantien celeb lantë_

_E'a__ i'silien elin.___

_Mankë__ sil'hë rana n'umao nawa nyar,_

_E'aurë__ ri'e'halya;_

_Ten'wanwa__ en ann'wanwië naë Nimrodel_

_Ar'e'i'orodor__ ranyë.___

_Listening to that sweet Elvish song, Merry drifted away into the clear blue pool Legolas' azure eyes had become. The song faded and finished. A voice called his name from far, far away._

_And the dream ended._

**ειδαсαг**

"Merry. Merry!" Pippin whispered, shaking his fellow's shoulder to wake him. "Look what I've found: a lockpick!"

"Hm?!" Merry came awake instantly at those words. "A lockpick? How?"

"Shhh, not so loud, an Uruk came by only a moment ago. But see, it's from my belt. I took the buckle and bent it straight against the wall. And I checked the lock—it's a clumsy thing, more for show than anything else, I think. Just like the one on the old wine cupboard back in Brandy Hall. Saruman did not expect this from us!"

"But he shall learn to expect much more from a Brandybuck and a Took! Pip, I take back everything I ever said about you."

"Thank you," he responded dryly. "Now, shall we set about escaping, or shall we sit around and wait for the next guard to come by?"

They nearly ran each other over in their scramble to get to the door.

**ειδαсαг**

well. there we go. what do u think? personally, i think i like this version better. more angsty. *evil grin, wicked laugh* write me a review so i can figure out what to do in the next chappie!


	9. Success?

"Hurry _up_, would you!" Merry gritted his teeth as Pippin's feet shifted on his shoulders. "Do you intend to take until the next Age?"

"I'm trying, you know! It's harder than you think!"

"Is that so? Then I may as well sit down and nap, because if it's truly that difficult, we'll still be here by Bilbo's eleventy-second birthday!"

The two halflings stood at the single door to their cell, Pippin shuffling about on Merry's shoulders as the other hobbit struggled to hold him up. Pippin had one arm through the bars of the door's window. Lockpick in hand, he strained to reach far enough to work the rusted padlock open.

"Oh, stop whining. You sound like a goblin who's missed his breakfast."

"I am, though—only I'm a hungry hobbit. Hungry enough to eat a goblin!"

Back and forth the banter went. Merry's shoulders soon became numb, and the muscles in his legs knotted; Pippin's arm was sore from wrenching it back and forth between the bars.

"Any minute now…" Merry mumbled to himself, not really expecting an answer of any kind.

A scrape and a click, and the clumsy lock fell free.

Merry froze for a moment, almost unable to believe it. Then he spun abruptly, meaning to wrench the door open and be free, but he forgot that Pippin still stood on him. The sudden spin threw Pippin off balance, so in a tangle of arms, legs, and dirty cloaks they both tumbled to the floor.

Merry jumped up instantly, hope sparkling in his eyes. "Come on, let's get this door open and find Legolas. Then we can leave for good and all!"

"Won't Saruman be surprised!"

The pair rushed to the portal but stopped short. Pippin turned pale with dread. The iron-shod stomp of Orkish boots clanged down the stone corridor.

They had been discovered.

**ειδαсαг**

Aragorn stopped for a moment and dropped to the earth, gasping for breath, sweat pouring into his eyes, muscles burning from exertion. The long run had thoroughly exhausted him, and he wanted nothing more than to fall down where he stood and sleep for an Age. But he had only to summon a vision of Legolas, Merry or Pippin in Saruman's tower of hell to keep his will strong.

The Ranger put an ear to the earth; he knew it would tell him what he needed to know, if only he would listen. He stayed so long in that position that to any observer he would have appeared to be asleep—how easy it would have been!—but at long last he rose again and took off at a sprint, heading towards the needle on the horizon that was Orthanc. It was drawing closer and closer. A few hours, and no more.

There was an added urgency to the Man's step as he raced on. Somehow he knew that his companions would need him soon, and badly.

**ειδαсαг**

_Screaming again, horrible and terrible, stinging his tender Elven ears. It was his father again._

"_Laiqulassë! Ai, ionn nin! Tua amin! Tua amin, amin kyermallë!"_

"_Anything!" Legolas shouted into the shrieking wind. "Whatever you want, you shall have it, this I swear! But leave my father alone!"_

_This time that slow, black consciousness was quicker to respond. It seemed to gather its strength, somehow feeling like approaching storm clouds that had not yet unleashed their fury. Then it pounced._

_Legolas screamed in pain, the sheer blinding force of it tearing apart his very soul. He felt as though a thousand tiny black-shafted arrows were piercing his skin, under his skin, in his bones, ripping into his heart and mind. He could feel them stripping away his memories, his thoughts, his emotions, like so much food for some wretched parasite. Burning white agony lanced through his body, laced with black chaos. In some anguished corner of his mind he watched the little black veins swell. They grew larger and larger, bleeding together, and then the whole of his world was enveloped in darkness._

**ειδαсαг**

The iron boots stomped closer.

And passed.

Pippin let out a long-held sigh of relief and looked at Merry. Merry looked back. "Stupid Orc," they chimed, grinning, and then rushed out of the cell.

**ειδαсαг**

Legolas was not sure what had awakened him, but was grateful that it had. He shuddered at the memory of his nightmare. It had felt all too real. But there were no boots clomping down the passage, no noises, nothing to pull him out of his much-needed sleep. Then he caught it: an almost inaudible scuffling that was so out of place it caught his attention. The Elf managed to drag his wounded body upright and peered at the door to his cell.

His surprise was complete when a pair of high little hobbit-voices reached his ears, in debate as usual.

"Is it this one?"

"It must be, because in the picture Saruman showed us he was only one cell away."

"But he could have been lying. And besides, one cell in which direction?"

"Stop fussing—I'm sure it was this one. I remember facing this way."

"Oho, do you? Well, as I recall, you ran face first into the wall on that auspicious day, didn't you? Might that have addled your sense of direction?"

"Of course not, and besides, I remember that wall very clearly. You would too if you had its brickwork imprinted on your nose."

In spite of his condition, Legolas had to stifle a chuckle. _Hobbits_, he thought. _Hobbits, Hobbits, Hobbits. _He began to inhale in order to shout to them, but his broken rib shifted and he exhaled in a soundless gasp of pain.

"Well, I'm not opening this door until I can be sure that it'll be Legolas, and not some nasty goblin charging out at us." Obviously Pippin, continuing the debate.

"Look, I'm _telling_ you, this is it!"

"Then boost me up so I can see. I still think you may have gotten too close with that wall!"

"Oh, no you don't, _I_ get to stand on _you_ this time. My shoulders will never forgive me for the torment you put them through."

"All right, fine, get up."

Scraping and shoving sounds, and then Merry's curly head appeared between the window bars. Legolas looked up at him wordlessly. The Hobbit's eyebrows shot up and his mouth opened wide to see the Elf's condition, but Pippin must then have lost his balance, for Merry dropped from sight and there were the scuffling sounds of a tumble.

"Pippin, you twit!"

"Oh, shut up—it takes one to know one. Was it him?"

There was an anxious note in Merry's voice as he answered. "Yes. Open it now, and quick."

There was more scraping, and the annoying squeak of metal on metal. Then there was a click; the door creaked open and Merry and Pippin rushed inside. Legolas pulled himself further upright against the wall and attempted a smile, to put on a brave face for the little folk. Their expressions told him that the effort had been in vain.

Pippin tried to conceal his shock and horror at the archer's appearance. Legolas faltered slightly at the Hobbit's expression and slipped down, wincing. He fell to his stomach and grimaced, then pushed himself up on weak arms. Merry caught a glimpse of his side and the ugly bruise of the broken rib. The wound from the ebony arrow still trickled black-streaked blood. The Halfling followed the crimson trail and saw all the tiny rivers joining it, all the lashings connecting them to the main stream. Several of the half-healed wounds broke and bled, adding further liquid to the already damp stone floor. When the Elf lifted his face, Pippin could see a black eye, a split lip, and a hairline cut on each high cheekbone, one from Saruman, one from Kashgûl. His blood-streaked hair fell forward to reveal the flat tip of one ear, raw and red—infected, most likely—though the cut had been made hours ago. Legolas was dangerously pale...but under all the grime…it was nearly impossible to see. He managed one last weak smile before falling to the ground again.

The two hobbits rushed forward to aid their wounded companion as sudden shouts rang out down the corridor.

"They've escaped!" bellowed a voice. It sounded close by. Too close.

"Find Saruman!"

**ειδαсαг**

There it was: the tower. Finally.

Orthanc loomed before him as Aragorn stood quietly in its shadow. So far he had successfully managed to avoid all the traps and hazards set for him here—it remained to see whether he could survive long enough to find his companions.

He had seen Gandalf do it, once—open a door where there was none. Placing one rough hand on the smooth stone wall, the Ranger sent his mind flowing through his palm and into the structure, seeking the very weave of existence for the solid stone. A thought rearranged the particles. A portal opened. _Thank you, my friend._

Hearing a commotion within, the Man knew on some instinctual level that Merry, Pippin, and Legolas needed him. He slipped through the doorway and dashed inside. The echoing boom of the closing portal, now that the wall was no longer under his influence, followed him through each step like some drum of doom.

_Doom, doom_.

He could see the trio ahead, the two hobbits supporting the lithe but limp form of an Elf. On the other side of them came a yelling host of Orcs, shouting and waving their crude blades. Aragorn drew his sword and charged ahead, adding his own battle cry:

"_Elendil!_"

**ειδαсαг**

whew. well. tell you what, i barely got this done in time. i **did** post it on saturday, like i said i would, so there! even if it was at like 11:59:59! anyway, moving on…there's only one translation, and it's the same one as in chapter 6…i thought it fitting and i was too lazy to dredge up and then translate a new one, so all it means is 'legolas! ai, my son! help me! help me, i pray you!'

and **so** sorry i haven't updated in so long…but at least i'm getting back on track now, right? and thank lady v for the big angst paragraph on legolas, she helped me out with that. we had fun.

Reviews (I don't know where I left off, so im just doing the first page. I **think** those are all the new ones…sorry if I skip you—talk to me and let me know if I do):

Unil-Gadia—whoa, cool name. anyway, i'm debating about the whole ear thing—one, none, or both?

Sirithiliel—sorry, I'm trying! So much to do…aagh…homework…finals…nooooo!

Fire Pendant—gotta love the torture, eh? me too. and as for Sabrion, you think you have an evil job being her muse? You gotta talk to my muses…yours will seem like a walk in the park, I promise you!

Orli92003—au contraire, being stranded was actually great fun—what with sledding off the roof and all that. but I cant tell you whats going to happen, b/c that would be giving things away, now wouldn't it…

Ankhesanamun—dude, another cool name. We're on a roll here. anyway, glad you like it!

Cheysuli—yes, you have been waiting, and very patiently, so here's your new chapter as a present (I promise ill have another one up soon, too, so there)

Lamoo—I know, isn't it fun to hurt him? its like theres this big gigantic sign around his neck that screams **hurt me!**

Sirithiliel—wait a minute, déjà vu again. o well. 8b was much better—much more angsty, and that's always good. and this one was even better, so s'all good now!

Sake Girl Duelist—haha, I win! I updated, like I said I would! Thbbb to all you unbelievers!

Orli92003—angst. Ah, what a wonderful word…isn't it lovely? Makes me think of…dungeons…and torture…dreamy sigh

Andmetwen—I know, ive been soooooo bad about updating. It wasn't my fault, really! (all right, all right, im sure you've heard that excuse before.) but really, it wasn't!

Black Hawk—still on the happy ending kick, are we? Well, no promises! Bittersweet, maybe, but happy? shudder

Jazmin—theyre so much better when theyre painful. that whole healing ring idea of mine was not one of my best. And what was i on? to be putting in something to ease pain! really!

Witchmastergasp, pant there, i wrote my new chapter! better than the last one, too, i hope. more angsty. ah, the torture…i just love it, you know?

all right, finally done. until next chapter, everyone! (set a goal…say, next wednesday? or something thereabouts?)


	10. But Naught

Sam sighed heavily and shifted the pack on his shoulders, forcing his weary body over yet another rise in the rocky terrain. This was the third day since Strider's departure. The day before, as per the Ranger's instructions, Sam, Frodo, Gimli and Boromir had turned northward from their previous trail and begun their trek through the Misty Mountains. Gimli had estimated the distance to be perhaps a hundred and fifty miles to Lothlórien, and as of yet, they had covered only forty of those miles. Their pace was excruciatingly slow. Boromir was not even strong enough to walk on his own, though he tried to hide it. Sam watched him, supported by Gimli, as they trudged ahead of him. The Gondorean's face was deathly pale from blood loss, and he stumbled often, his heavily bandaged, broken arm motionless in a makeshift sling. Already the dressings on his wounds were sporting scarlet dots—they would have to stop to change them soon.

Sam sighed again and plodded on. He thought about Merry and Pippin and Legolas, whether they were all right, whether Aragorn had found them yet, whether they had escaped Orthanc…He wondered if he would ever see them again.

**ειδαсαг**

"_Elendil!_"

Merry turned at the sound of Aragorn's battle cry, but he had only a split second to view the Ranger before the Man crashed into the rush of Orcs. Andúril flashed redly as it cleaved the life from two of the Uruks. Both the Halflings stood open-mouthed, frozen in shock and joy at the sight of their rescuer.

"Run, you fools!" Strider shouted, parrying three thrusts and neatly skewering another enemy.

His shout galvanized the two hobbits into action. Each grabbed hold of one of Legolas' shoulders, and with their help, the Elf half-walked and was half-dragged down the corridor. Pippin tried not to flinch or pull away from the sticky blood coating the archer's body. Legolas coughed convulsively every few steps, each cough resulting in a steady trickle of blood down the side of his mouth. They made progress, but it was agonizingly slow—too slow.

"Hurry!" Aragorn bellowed over his shoulder. A clash of blades followed, and he was forced to drop back a step.

A tiny spark ignited in Legolas' barely conscious mind. Everything seemed blurry and indistinct. He dimly felt Merry and Pippin tugging him forward with their little hands, distantly heard Aragorn's urgent shouts, smelled the coppery scent of spilled Orkish blood. Thoughts came to him slowly, crystal-clear. _We will not make it. _He and the Hobbits were almost to the wall, but that was no help. The corridor was a dead end. They were lost.

Pippin felt despair swoop over him and settle on his shoulders in a stifling funereal shroud. There was nowhere to go. "Strider, we're trapped!" he shouted, tossing a quick glance over his shoulder, hoping that the Man could somehow miraculously save them all.

The Ranger responded by lunging forward, driving the Uruks back several steps, and then whirled around and dashed to the wall. Placing one bloody hand on the stone, he took a deep breath and seemed to fall within himself for a split second. Then he opened his eyes and spun back to the battle, for in that split second the Orcs had come ever closer. They were no more than a few hobbit-lengths away now.

"Go!" Aragorn bellowed over his shoulder as he fought to drive them back.

Merry and Pippin shared a look of consternation. This was hardly the time for the Man to be losing his mind.

The Ranger risked a glance and saw that his companions hadn't moved. "_Go!_ The wall is no longer solid; you can go straight through it! Hurry!"

Pippin put a tentative hand on the wall, meaning to ascertain if the Man's words were true. "No time!" Merry shouted and bodily shoved his companion through the stone. In the back of his mind a voice noted, _Hm. It worked. How odd. Strider's sane after all. _But before he could turn and do the same to Legolas, a hand planted itself between his shoulders and propelled him away after Pippin.

The hand had belonged to Legolas, who now slumped against the still-solid portion of the wall. He knew what he had to do; he knew Aragorn far too well.

The Ranger was steadily losing ground, one Man against steadily growing numbers of Uruks. He was almost to the wall now. A hurried glance showed him that the Hobbits were gone, but Legolas remained. "_Laiqulassë!__ Kelautllë n'ë en sinomë, síi! Saes!"_

Legolas did not bother to reply; he could not make himself loud enough to be heard, anyway. He could read the Man's every thought. Aragorn was going to sacrifice himself. There was no way that the Elf would allow that to happen. Aragorn was one of his best friends, and Legolas was willing to—and probably would, under the current circumstances—die before he let any such sacrifice take place.

With his last vestiges of strength, the archer grasped his friend by the shoulders, and before the Man could react, forced him through the wall. It sealed itself with his passing. "No!" The ghost of Aragorn's voice floated back, but he was gone.

As was Legolas. He sank down to the floor, into empty nothing, and was unconscious even before the Orcs closed in to beat him.

**ειδαсαг**

"No. No!" Aragorn bellowed, pounding his hand against the unyielding stones of the wall. "_Laiqulassë!__ Amadallë!_ Why? Why? We were so close! You fool! Legolas! _Legolas!_" He went on with his tirade, finishing with a howl like a demented wolf.

When the Ranger finally turned to the Hobbits, they could see that he was well and truly drained. There were dark circles under his eyes, his skin was pale under the blood and grime, his eyes red-rimmed, his face gaunt, his hands twitching. His arms shook under the continued strain of merely holding his sword off the ground. The Man was exhausted. Without another word he slumped to the ground, putting his back to the stone wall and his head in his hands. No one said anything for a time.

"What do we do now?" Merry asked tentatively, breaking the silence.

"Do?" Aragorn replied incredulously, raising his head to look at the Hobbit. "Do? We can do nothing now."

Merry began to protest. "But we can't—"

"Tomorrow morning, you will journey to Rivendell. You will meet the others there. Tell them what happened and continue with the quest."

Even Pippin disagreed. How could they possibly leave Legolas behind? "But Strider, Legolas—we couldn't—we must—"

"We have to help him," Merry finished emphatically.

"There is nothing we can do."

"But we have to get him out! We can't just leave him there!"

"Can't you do that—er—trick with the wall again?" Pippin asked. "The Orcs will have gone by now. We could sneak inside and steal him away!"

A cold, bitter laugh sounded from the Ranger's lips. It seemed so wrong, coming from one who had been so noble, so proud and wise, as close to an Elf as any Man could be. "Look at me, Pippin," he said, not without scorn. "I do not think I could even stand, let alone walk. I cannot open the wall again. There is no way we could possibly do as you say. I am exhausted. I have run for days without stopping to eat, drink or rest; you two are starved and beaten. We are hardly a rescue party!"

"But we could try…" Merry insisted forlornly before trailing off into silence.

"Yes, we could try. But what would we accomplish? Prisoners for yourselves again? Capture for me? Death and torture at Saruman's hands? No, my little Halfling friend, I think not. We could never succeed."

"But…"

"But naught, Master Meriadoc. There is nothing we can do."

Both Hobbits sat and wept silently, as the sun and clouds wheeled overhead and night crept over them all.

**ειδαсαг**

well. wow. that was a loooong break. But I went to England and stuff, and then to Scotland, and then to Montana—no, wait, Montana came first—but anyways, the point is I was gone for a while. And after all that, I came straight in to school. My Spanish teacher—ahhhhhh! As we all know, I'm a fan of torture, but she's just cruel. and oh my god her smile! Smile, my ass! When she does that…thing…I swear to god, the crack in her face is like a crack in the walls of hell, with demons and devils and succubi just pouring forth. Its horrible, I don't know how I survive. But thank god for thanksgiving break! Now I've finally got time to write like I should. It's been great. So heres my newest chappie, sorry it took so long, but you know how it goes, eh?

And theres only one translation this time around: "Legolas! Get yourself out of here, now! Please!" boring, I know, but hey, it's functional.

Finally! My favorite part—reviews! (sorry, everyone, but I'm not sure where I left off at, and it's been a while, so if I skip you, I'm real sorry! Just feel free to chew me out next time you write me one.)

LegolasLover2003—yeah, I know the whole portal thing was weird, but I couldn't think of what else to do, and I really didn't want Aragorn having to sneak all over orthanc trying to find a door or something. Really cuts down on the suspense, you know?

Witchmaster—I know exactly what you mean. I've been so ridiculously angst-deprived for WEEKS now. I was going through torture withdrawal, it was horrible. But I must say, I did enjoy writing this chapter. Mental angst more than physical, this time around. But still, pain is pain!

Lanfear—you want someone ripped up for you? Hmmm…so far, that would be just the uruks. Unless you count aragorn's pushing himself 'for days without stopping for food, drink, or rest' blah blah blah. But tell you what—next chapter, whoever gets most beat on will be tormented just for you!

Ariadne—I hate school, you know. Really. I hate it. If I could pick one thing in this world to destroy forever with no memory of it and no possibility of it being rebuilt in the future, it would be school. For sure. And just think, then I could update…and update…and update…sigh

Khessy—it wasn't pointless at all, of course not! Notice, I used the word in this chapter—and thanks, by the by, for giving it to me; I couldn't find the damn thing anywhere else!

Star-Stallion—yep, I really think it's the angst that adds that nice finishing touch. Without the torture…gasp! Perish the thought.

Ymmas Sirron—hehe weak grin well, so much for that, I guess… flees in guilt

Rose—ah, the wise words of the sage…sound advice, my dear!

None, yet—you know, we really need to work on the name thing here. But anyways, we have another lady v-er, ladies and gents! Please welcome…um…er…yeah. Like I said, we need to get you a name.

Mikazuki Senshi—hehe, very succinct review. I like your style!

Layla—wow, déjà vu. But I updated, didn't I, so joy to the world, eh?

Legolas' Cousin—too bad, but the ass-kicking has to wait til next chapter. I decided to draw it out a little bit more. Hehe, aren't I cruel!

Gia—all right, all right, all right already, I updated, I updated, I updated!

Hitokiri youkai—don't you hate computer restriction? Drives me crazy. Lucky for me I have a laptop that I can hide when I need to so my parents cant take it away!


	11. Why?

Everything was blurred, faded. There were only dark shapes and light shapes left in the world. Red he could see, and black, and gray; outlines and other colors would no longer stay in focus. He knew not how long he had been…but what was time in this place, whatever place it was? Boromir wondered where he was; sometimes he wondered _who_ he was. And sometimes he simply slipped away, to wonder nothing.

The pain, though. The pain was different. It would not obligingly recede from existence, like everything else, but would stay sharp, needling, flashing bright when the world tilted and the Man stumbled.

Stumbled?

He was walking now, Boromir realized. Crimson spots hovered on the lower periphery of his vision—his own blood, staining the bandages. Gimli was the stout, solid mass on his right, Sam the support on his left, and the bobbing figure on the horizon must be Frodo. His cloak was blue.

Blue. Color. The garment floated on a dimly perceived breeze. It flowed, and was blue like water.

The Gondorean felt something in his throat working, and heard a sound emerge: a dry, harsh rasp that for him held no meaning at all.

"Master Boromir, sir?" Sam stared up. He was sure the Man had said something, improbable though it was, as Boromir had been in and out of consciousness for days. Then it came again, and again.

A wide grin split Sam's round face nearly in two. "Gimli!" he cried. "Gimli, look, he's _awake_—and he wants some water!"

**ειδαсαг**

Pippin awoke to a merrily crackling fire and the utterly intoxicating aroma of roasted coney. He sat up, sniffing, and saw Merry, tongue between his teeth, carefully removing the most delicious meal that Pippin had ever seen from the end of a pointed stick.

"Awake, finally? Thought you'd sleep forever, I did. Have a coney, why don't you?"

This last was a bit belated, as Pippin had already scrambled over and was tearing in.

"Whar'd ese fohm?" Pippin asked between mouthfuls.

"Haven't the faintest. Woke up and here they were, a brace of coneys, ready and waiting to be skinned and cooked over this lovely fire."

Pippin belched and licked clean the last of the bones. "Merry—where are we? Last I recall, we were just outside the walls of Saruman's tower with Strider—speaking of which, where is he?"

"Pip, you know I never worry about such little things as location when there's a rabbit what needs eating in front of me."

"Of course, Meriadoc, but as you seem to have taken care of that rabbit, your excuse is—ah."

For just as he had spoken, Strider had come into view, carrying not one but _four _more coneys over his shoulder. His eyes widened when he saw the empty space beside the fire, where the original rabbits had lain.

"Gone already?" the Ranger asked incredulously. "I've been not ten minutes, and you have already skinned them, cooked them, and eaten them. Did you perhaps take culinary lessons from Gandalf?"

"We were hungry, Strider," answered Merry apologetically.

"And still are," added Pippin, hopefully eyeing the Man's burden.

Aragorn laughed and tossed the rabbits to the ground. "Perform the same magic with these, then. We will have two apiece."

As Merry turned the makeshift spit over the fire, Pippin worked at skinning the next in line. "Strider, where are we? And how did we get here from Isengard without Merry and I having moved a muscle?"

"After escaping from the Uruks' clutches" a shadow crossed Aragorn's face at the memory of the one left behind "we lay down and slept where we were. As the night drew on, I recovered enough to drink a little water and eat a bit of _lembas_ bread, and felt myself much restored. I was on point of going back into Orthanc when I remembered you, Masters Hobbit. I could not leave you both behind to be discovered by patrollers and recaptured; I do not know why we were undisturbed for so long. We should have been found within an hour.

"So I carried the two of you here. We are not far from Isengard—if you look over that rise, you will see the Tower. This morning I awoke and went hunting, and here we are."

Merry broke in by handing each of them a coney, complete with a sort of skewer to hold it by; and, abandoning all pretenses of manners as well as any further questions, the three companions set to.

**ειδαсαг**

Saruman was angry.

No, he was not angry. He was _furious_.

The Halflings had escaped. The Elf had nearly escaped. The Man who had come to rescue them had also escaped. And the Uruks had not found them. Damn them! _No one_ eluded Saruman the White, chosen servant of the Great Eye himself! Damn them. Damn them _all_! That any creature had escaped from Isengard was infuriating to begin with. That they had seemingly vanished from the face of Arda, and that neither the persistence of the Uruks nor the devices of the wizard were sufficient to _find_ them was simply—simply—

Words would not suffice.

And there was something about that Man…and his sword. It was familiar, somehow, and somehow _felt_ repulsively bright. The runes on the blade…The Uruks had not been able to interpret them, stupid things, but they had described the symbols as hateful, which meant but one thing: the blade was Elven-forged. It did not bode well for the plans of Saruman and the Great Master. At least the Elf was still here.

Saruman felt his rage melt, settle, and recast itself with a sharper point. Yes. At least the Elf was still here…

**ειδαсαг**

Legolas opened swollen, reddened eyes to see the now-familiar striped square of torchlight on the floor in front of his face; but the intimacy failed to bring the usual comfort it was associated with. All he felt was pain: stinging pain, lancing pain, stabbing, slicing, needling, ripping, tearing, throbbing pain. Somehow it all seemed vaguely far away, if only for the seconds between breaths. Those seconds felt like lifetimes, lifetimes birthed and murdered anew by each fresh hell that inhaling created. The Elf's one broken rib had multiplied to three, and judging by the liquid trickling from a corner of his split lips, one of those three had likely pierced a lung. It hurt. It all hurt.

There had been no more nightmares recently, no more lands of blood and broken bodies in the blackness of Legolas' unconscious. He was unable to sleep to begin with, and if he had, he was simply too exhausted to invent such things. Waking life had become worse than any dream. The nightmares weren't real anyway, only figments of his imagination brought on by the strain of his tormented mind. The Elf would have laughed bitterly if he could have.

That familiar square of barred torchlight went flying away, winging off and disappearing into the darkness as the door of the Prince's cell swung open with a tortured whine. For an instant, Legolas was able to see a new rectangle of grimy stone wall, until his view was blocked by a rude, unfinished shape that looked as if the Morgoroth demons had started on a new creation, but abandoned it because of its hideousness halfway through. It was an Uruk. Yellow eyes glittering evilly, every shade of Elven green obliterated from their empty depths, it gave a cruel laugh and tossed down a chipped bowl of fetid water and a rank strip of something long dead. With a harsh growl, the Uruk kicked the hated Elf just once in the stomach before stamping away, slamming the ironbound door shut as it passed.

The stomp of iron-shod boots ringing in his mutilated ear, Legolas clutched at his side and tried to spit up the blood in his lungs. He choked instead. The kick had embedded a red-hot skewer somewhere deep within his breast, and the pain would not ease. The Elf wept from the agony. Fluid was filling his lungs, spinning blackness about to engulf him as he thrashed, drowning. He was going to die.

In that moment, Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil son of Oropher, Prince of the Elves of Mirkwood, gave up. As the pink froth bubbled from his lips, tasting of corroded copper or perhaps iron, Legolas had but one thought. _Mankoi__ il-na gurthamin tyel'ba?_

**ειδαсαг**

**So.** Not bad for my first chappie back, eh? Short, I know, but I had to get it out there. At least it's nice and painful. Translation: why can't I just die. Cheery, yes?

As for reviews, I'm only going to do the first page—I haven't the foggiest idea where I ought to start, and, well, important as you all are to me (**dah**-lings!), I haven't the time. Dinner approaches. So here we go:

NightShadow131—Japanese, eh? Seems insanely complicated. I think my poor little mind would just explode. Ah well; to each his/her/its own, I suppose. Yeah, Costa Rica was awesome. If I haven't said that enough yet. I hope you enjoyed this chappie—feel free to send me some fresh ideas for torture and agony. J

LiLred—Updated! Updated! Updated, I swear!

Moonyasha—Updated. Not long, but (I hope) marginally satisfactory, yes?

Nimwen—and you too. Actually, NightShadow's offer goes for anyone: please give me ideas. First of all, they're useful, and second of all, it's fun to see just how sadistic I am compared to the rest of you.

Kelsey Estel—whoa! You have my name! How dare you! Not really, just joking. I know a lot of Kelseys. Makes life harder slash more interesting. And are you _kidding_ me? Saruman is SO sadistic. SO evil. Although everyone could use an upgrade every now and then, I suppose.

Rose—technically, yes, but what the hell. It just makes him seem that much more wretched, so I've been pretending.

Amanwethiel—well, yes, actually, it **has** been a year, but who's keeping track? The beaches will do that to you. Anyway, glad you enjoyed and hope you continue to do so.

sanzoeclipsekuramaarehot—dear god in heaven, what kind of a name is that? I'm getting carpal tunnel syndrome. Lol, John's comment makes me laugh. It sounds so familiar somehow…oh wait, Erik did that to me the other day. Only he didn't say anything. Just stared…sighed…and left. Ah well.

Anonymous—I'm sorry! I know it took me forever and then some. But here you are, and I hope you enjoyed it, agonizingly short though it was.

KentouKurige—As the master commands, so I obey…

ToTheMoonAndBack—Yes, Lady V is quite talented, isn't she. Haven't seen her in a while, come to think of it…By the way, please notice that only ONE of Legolas' ears have been mutilated so far. I haven't decided if there's more to come yet. On the one hand, it would be redundant, and I don't think I could come up with a more painful scenario than the first time around. But on the other, torture is always good. Eeny meeny meiny moe…

Dark Lady Cheese Puff—I say, what a comic appellation! I applaud. Reminds me of cheetos…damn I'm hungry. Anyway, I don't hate Legolas, I just happen to be sadistic and slightly deranged, and he's such a convenient character. What's your story titled? I'd like to check it out. And speaking of other elf torture stories, **for the love of god will someone please read and review my poor lonely pathetic drow story that no one has paid any attention to whatsoever?** Not the third one, the second one. _I_ thought it was good…sniff sniff

Blue Dragoness—Don't worry about it. J'**adore** long reviews. And no, I speak no French whatsoever. Long reviews are the best. I'm glad you like the Elvish—I'm kinda rusty now, so there's only one phrase, but we're getting there. Baby steps.

EverKitsune—barbaric indeed…but while he'd still be able to moan and groan pitifully, I just can't spoil his ability to hurl insulting/agonized phrases at his captors. You know how it goes.


	12. Shadrach

Silent as a shadow, it stole down the corridor, yellow eyes darting left and right to ensure secrecy. Occasionally, when its head turned just enough for its eyes to catch the light of the bracketed torches along the wall, a hint of green glinted in their depths, but so faint it might have been only a trick of the flames.

A door loomed ahead. Fumbling with a strip of scrap metal made into a rude imitation of a key, the creature wetted the lock and hinges with a few drops of crude oil and carefully—ever so carefully—eased the portal open without a sound. On the floor opposite the door lay a huddle of rags, snippets of bruised flesh visible here and there where the rags had fallen away. The surrounding stone was stained brown with dried blood.

Kneeling, Shadrach the Uruk-Hai rinsed the worst of Elf's wounds with what clean water she had been able to find and tucked a leaf-wrapped package under the archer's palm. Then she stood, closed the door, and scurried away.

**ειδαсαг**

Merry and Pippin stared at the Man, eyes wide open in astonishment, looking ridiculous with coney juices dribbling down their chins.

"Pray understand, Masters Hobbit," Aragorn pleaded, misunderstanding the source of their shock. "Legolas is a brother to me, and I cannot leave him there in Saruman's stinking hellhole. You will not sway me. Now, once you have had your fill of coney, you must start on your journey. Trek east of here until you round the edge of the Misty Mountains, and then follow the edge of Fangorn Forest northward to the River Limlight. From there—"

"I beg your pardon, Strider!" Merry interrupted indignantly.

"We shall of course be coming with you," Pippin explained patiently to the Ranger's puzzled face.

"You cannot. The Uruks would be upon you in moments, if either of you even managed to get past the outer guard! Perhaps traveling _without_ me is not as safe as traveling _with_ me, but it is a good deal less dangerous than attempting to steal within the dwelling-place of a wizard!"

"That is exactly what you propose to do, Strider, and you'll be needing our help if you expect to come out of it alive," Pippin insisted.

"He's right," Merry agreed. "Hobbits are some of the best sneaksters in Middle Earth, you know, especially Pip and I—how do you think we've managed to get in the cellars so many times without being caught?"

"And we are friends of Legolas too. We are coming with you!"

"Besides—"

Aragorn held up his hands placatingly. "Please, no more!" he begged, laughing. "If you attack Saruman's forces in the same manner, we shall be in and out of Orthanc in no time!

"However," he added sternly, "there will be no opportunity for you to do so, as you are _not_ coming with me and are instead going to journey to Lothlórien to meet the others."

"But—"

"You _must_. They will continue on the Quest without us if you do not apprise them of my plans and progress. Remember, the rest of our Fellowship believes that you are both most likely dead. Frodo and Sam are greatly worried for you; and Frodo will need your friendship and support in the times ahead. You have no choice, Hobbits. I cannot take you with me, and you cannot stay here. A patrol would soon find you—indeed, one should have already. I will provide you with supplies. You must go."

"Absolutely no—"

"Do as I say, Meriadoc!"

Cowed, Merry bent his head. "Yes, Strider," he and Pippin said sadly.

**ειδαсαг**

so. short, I know—pitifully and agonizingly short. But I swear, I just didn't have the time! Ahhhhhh! There will be more, though, never fear!

BoBi—the translation is too there! I even double-checked to make sure. It's just hidden in some of my nonsensical blather, that's all.

Moonyasha—don't you hate it when computers do that to you? They're best friends and worst enemies at the same time.

Dark Lady Cheese Puff—lol, not THAT drow story, the OTHER one. The Claim one. Tsk tsk tsk. That Elaith one is just something I half-borrowed from J.R. Salvatore and half made up completely. The other one is much more interesting, if still rather pathetic.

Kirsten—just the point. The whole ear would be almost too grotesque—plus he could make a prosthetic or something. Leaving the rest of the ear makes it that much more painfully evident that he was so inhumanly mutilated…

Booklover Fanatic—why thank you! I don't often get rave reviews, but it makes my day when I do.

Rose—abandon my story! Never! Sad and small though it is, I still get to beat up on my characters and keep all my reviewers dangling off cliffhangers. Why would I give that up?

NightShadow131—shudder I couldn't learn kanji. I have trouble with English, for crying out loud.

starsmiles—I know, I have this bad habit of making my chappies short. I just love to post them, that's all. I can't stand to wait! Ahhhh! And this one's even shorter…sorry.

LiLred—updated. Unsatisfactorily, yes, but updated!


	13. the REAL chapter 12, new and improved

Silent as a shadow, it stole down the corridor, yellow eyes darting left and right to ensure secrecy. Occasionally, when its head turned just enough for its eyes to catch the light of the bracketed torches along the wall, a hint of green glinted in their depths, but so faint it might have been only a trick of the flames.

A door loomed ahead. Fumbling with a strip of scrap metal made into a rude imitation of a key, the creature wetted the lock and hinges with a few drops of crude oil and carefully—ever so carefully—eased the portal open without a sound. On the floor opposite the door lay a huddle of rags, snippets of bruised flesh visible here and there where the rags had fallen away. The surrounding stone was stained brown with dried blood.

Kneeling, Shadrach the Uruk-Hai rinsed the worst of Elf's wounds with what clean water she had been able to find and tucked a leaf-wrapped package under the archer's palm. Then she stood, closed the door, and scurried away.

**ειδαсαг**

Merry and Pippin stared at the Man, eyes wide open in astonishment, looking ridiculous with coney juices dribbling down their chins.

"Pray understand, Masters Hobbit," Aragorn pleaded, misunderstanding the source of their shock. "Legolas is a brother to me, and I cannot leave him there in Saruman's stinking hellhole. You will not sway me. Now, once you have had your fill of coney, you must start on your journey. Trek east of here until you round the edge of the Misty Mountains, and then follow the edge of Fangorn Forest northward to the River Limlight. From there—"

"I beg your pardon, Strider!" Merry interrupted indignantly.

"We shall of course be coming with you," Pippin explained to the Ranger's puzzled face.

"You cannot. The Uruks would be upon you in moments, if either of you even managed to get past the outer guard! Perhaps traveling _without_ me is not as safe as traveling _with_ me, but it is a good deal less dangerous than attempting to steal within the dwelling-place of a wizard!"

"That is exactly what you propose to do, Strider, and you'll be needing our help if you expect to come out of it alive," Pippin insisted.

"He's right," Merry agreed. "Hobbits are some of the best sneaksters in Middle Earth, you know, especially Pip and I—how do you think we've managed to get in the cellars so many times without being caught?"

"And we are friends of Legolas too. We are coming with you!"

"Besides—"

Aragorn held up his hands placatingly. "Please, no more!" he begged, laughing in spite of himself. "If you attack Saruman's forces in the same manner, we shall be in and out of Orthanc in no time!

"However," he added sternly, "there will be no opportunity for you to do so, as you are _not_ coming with me and are instead going to journey to Lothlórien to meet the others."

"But—"

"You _must_. They will continue on the Quest without us if you do not apprise them of my plans and progress. Remember, the rest of our Fellowship believes that you are both most likely dead. Frodo and Sam are greatly worried for you; and Frodo will need your friendship and support in the times ahead. You have no choice, Hobbits. I cannot take you with me, and you cannot stay here. A patrol would soon find you—indeed, one should have already. I will provide you with supplies. You must go."

"Absolutely no—"

"Do as I say, Meriadoc!"

Cowed, Merry bent his head. "Yes, Strider," he and Pippin said sadly.

**ειδαсαг**

Frodo looked out from the mouth of the cave, staring back down his road of recent days without really seeing what lay there. Rings of smoke drifted into the twilight as he puffed steadily away, thinking, nibbling on the end of his pipe as he did so. He was wondering, wondering about Merry and Pippin and Strider and Legolas. Were they, any of them, alive? Were they hurt? What if they were struggling through the mountains at this very moment, wounded? Frodo had done everything he could to delay his company's progress; but Boromir, though convalescing, still needed care, care he would not get anywhere but in the Golden Wood. And the Ring…

Frodo's brow furrowed, and in that moment, he looked much older that his fifty years. The Ring. The true source of all his worries. Sometimes at night, he could hear it whispering in his head in tongues he did not understand. He was afraid of it, deathly afraid, and without Gandalf, Frodo was no longer sure it could be controlled.

Behind him, Boromir sighed and rolled over in his sleep.

For that matter, Frodo was no longer sure he could control himself.

**ειδαсαг**

Legolas awoke with a sinking sense of disappointment, frustrated that he was still within the same stone square of walls, frustrated that the torch outside still illuminated the dismal surroundings, frustrated that his body had not obeyed his mind and simply died. _Nermanï__ umta'ánt?_he wondered bitterly.

There was something under his palm. With an effort, the Elf forced himself into a sitting position, disregarding the streaks of pain that flashed through him. They were routine by now. Lifting his hand, he discovered a small leaf-wrapped package lying on the dirty floor. Not only that, but his wounds were—relatively speaking—_clean._ How in Arda…

Eagerly the archer unwrapped the package, stiff hands fumbling through the movements. Though one eye was bruised shut and sitting up had made him dizzy, Legolas could still make out what the leaves contained: lembas bread! He wolfed down half without pause, and then stopped to savor the woodland sweetness on his swollen lips and tongue. Finished, Legolas slumped back against the wall, eyes closed. Eating had exhausted him, but he was content. The lembas bread had given him much more than simple sustenance; it had given him back his hope.

Casting his eyes up to the dank ceiling, the Elf called an image of the night sky into his mind, the ghost of a smile lighting up his too-pale face. _Diollë__, Elbereth. Diollë sai'ikotanë._

**ειδαсαг**

Quick as a hunting wolf, quiet as a shadow, Aragorn ghosted behind the second of the Uruk-hai sentry lines. It had not been easy. Indeed, he had nearly been caught in three separate instances. The guards were wary; more so, now that intruders had both entered Orthanc and escaped in almost the same breath. None wished to displease their master, so they all trained their yellow eyes against the glare of the sun and strained to make out even the smallest hint of a fresh invasion.

Aragorn paused at a hollow in the ground to rest a moment. He had chosen the day to travel, because although the Uruks had better day-vision than their pureblooded Orc counterparts, they were still not up to the task of tracking a Ranger's movements. Carefully, he eased himself forward, and waited until a patrolling guard had passed him by—no more than a few feet away. Then the Man was up and gone without a trace, and anything the Uruk saw could have been nothing more than the wavering of light, or the passing of a cloud.

**ειδαсαг**

phew. Well. Vacation was great. Kauai is gorgeous. But of course it's back to school as of tomorrow, with a three hour time difference…(sigh). I really must be a masochist or something. By the bye, THANK YOU SO MUCH to those of you who wrote reviews. Makes my day. Anyways, I apologize ahead of time for any bizarre review-responses I write. I was up by 10 am yesterday, and then went to the beach/snorkeled/traveled on and in various airplanes and cars, and it is now past 3 pm the following day. Love it.

Translations: "What more does it need?"

"Thank you, Elbereth. Thank you so much."

**Reviews! (woot!)**

Werewolf's One—glad you like the story. Yeah, my chappies are agonizingly short, I know, but it's either that or get hounded by bloodthirsty reviewers 24/7. This way I can just keep stringing you all along on these nice little tidbits…like leaving a bread trail for squirrels or something. (Excuse the lame analogy; I've been up since 7 a.m. Kauai time, which means 10 am normal time, and it is now…3:15 pm the following day. It's rough.)

Lunasariel—at the risk of being a copycat, Hmmm…_Hmmm…HMMMM!_

Starsmiles—yeah, aren't hobbits cute? Gotta love em.

Kelsey Estel—true. But I tried to fix it this time around, so take two…

Gwenneth—ha! Reeled in another one! Sorry, I just get excited whenever new reviewers come in. welcome to the fold!

Gods-girl2004—well, why wouldn't there be Uruks in Moria? Or rather, why _couldn't_ there be. It's a plausible starting point. And as for Strider hunting rabbits, let's pretend that all the big game has been scared off by the Uruks, but they're too stupid to catch rabbits, which are therefore abundant. Our heroes have to eat something, after all.

Arithon—poor Legolas. Ah well. Maybe he'll be rescued soon—then again, maybe not. HA! YOU'LL NEVER KNOW! Until it gets written and posted, I suppose, but whatever.

Moonyasha—you know, on tv, they always kick whatever's broken to fix it…sadly, sometimes that actually works.

NightShadow131—yeah, the hobbits just can't come along. They'd be Orc food, or warg food, or something like that, which would really be just too sad. So they get to stay behind. But maybe I'll make them follow Aragorn in, or maybe they'll just hang out in the woods somewhere. I dunno. Decisions, decisions…


End file.
